Seasons
by white lotus
Summary: As time passes, seasons change and memories fade...
1. Natsu

**A/N – **I'm planning to make thisa four-part collection of drabbles, one for each season of the year. I have a tendancy to write according to my mood, so be prepared for the odd change in atmosphere as we go along. Warnings? A couple of pairings, perhaps a hint of yaoi, depending on how you like to interpret it.

**Disclaimer - **:shakes head: No. Not mine. I only own the second-rate fan fiction.

**Thanks to – **My Beta, Su-chan. I don't know what I'd do without you… This one's for you!

**Seasons**

_Natsu - Summer_

Summer this year in Konoha is unnaturally warm. It wakens the Sun perhaps an hour earlier than usual, chasing the clinging wisps of fog from the trees and collecting the dew that hangs like clear jewels from a spider's finest silk threads.

It is not long before the studded veil of night fades into the purest blue, a blue unlike any hue able to be mixed by hand, a blue like the eyes of a blond boy who gazes into the vast expanse of the heavens above him and for a moment, pretends that he is able to snatch a fluffy handful of white to give his lazy cloud-gazing friend as a special gift.

Summer is in the Sun's rays of late morning, kissing the already tan skin of an excited figure, clad in an orange jumpsuit despite the heat, as he hurries to find his friends so they can share the weekend.

He finds one of them beneath a tree by a steam, perhaps slightly irritated at everyone's slightly postponed arrival, but perhaps just pretending to be so, because the blond boy can't quite see the smile hidden by his friend's dark bangs.

A distant call and they both look up to see two girls, one a stray cherry blossom from Spring, the other, the soft early light of Winter, between them a picnic basket, behind them, more welcome company.

Summer is in the dragonfly that lights on a shoulder, amused as it learns that the owner of this shoulder has a terrible hand of cards, and though he is usually good at everything else, this area of expertise is completely out of his reach.

The dragonfly takes flight as a crimson and white fan ripples on a dark blue wave, the cards are revealed and mirth engulfs the embarrassment of the flame-wielding prodigy.

A taller, somewhat awkward boy with a dazzling smile and shiny haircut throws down his hand with an air of assured victory only to finally be beaten by the player with deft fingers, a proud bearing and a pair of white eyes.

An argument erupts over the winner possibly being able to see through his opponents' cards and the noise disturbs the nap of a ninja who must have drifted off while staring at the sky and listening to the munching of crisps from his friend nearby.

The dispute is resolved and somehow, the hyperactive blond has become the victim again, as he is unceremoniously dumped, orange clothes and all, into the stream. His indignation earns whole-hearted amusement, and it isn't long before the rest have joined to escape the heat of the noon sun.

Summer is in the ringing shrieks of laughter, a shimmering curtain of water thrown at the girl with hair the colour of a cherry blossom while she is looking elsewhere, and although the culprit of this unforgivable crime mercilessly teases his team mate for being distracted, the blond boy will only ever admit to himself that he appreciates the view provided by his topless dark-haired friend perhaps even more than the pink-haired girl does.

A shy giggle as another girl, with the same eyes as the winner of the card game, is nuzzled by a white dog. He presents to her a daisy between his teeth, an innocent, unspoken declaration of affection from the boy with the scarlet face markings, who is trying to convince his companion in the dark glasses and long coat to take a dip.

The quieter of the two feels his lips twitch involuntarily as he insists that the bugs would not enjoy the water very much.

A shout of surprise as the blond crown of spikes vanishes beneath the surface with a spraying splash created by flailing arms. The cherry blossom girl emerges with his orange pants, flings them out of reach into the high branches of a tree, and the two friends, are, much to the distress of the blond boy, quite even in score now.

Summer is in the slices of watermelon, dripping with sweet pink juice that proves tempting enough for the blond boy to abandon his pride, leave the stream amid peals of hysteria and retrieve his pants in order to obtain a piece of the fruit.

Every mouthful is a blessing, a treat for an empty stomach, and for the first time that day, silence settles to watch serenely as the friends agree that there is nothing quite like a homemade lunch.

Ice cream for dessert, a scramble for a choice of flavours as a vendor passes by in her wide-brimmed straw hat. Playful arguments over the last red bean popsicle, a loud disturbance when the cherry blossom girl and her winter-eyed friend fight for the honour of being the one to buy the dark-haired boy a chocolate ice, only to droop in dismay when they realise the blond boy has beaten them to it and bought him a berry popsicle instead.

Behind a tree, out of sight, a stolen, vanilla-flavoured kiss from the weapons master to a stunned white-eyed genius. He stares as she walks away, and if not for the sweet scent on his lips, he would doubt whether it happened at all.

Summer is in the sleepy, contented murmur of scattered conversation as the afternoon wanes, dressing the sky in a brilliant gown of scarlet, gold and lavender flame, and as one, the friends count the stars as they appear. When there are simply too many to number, they name them, claim them and with their dreams, reach out with an unwavering confidence that someday, these glowing beacons of hope will be captured and kept.

In pairs and groups, goodnights are called and the gathering slowly dwindles in size as the each return to their family, satisfied with a day well spent.

Summer is in the song of the crickets hidden in the rushes as the two figures remain lying in the grass, feeling no need to go home, because no one is waiting for them.

The blonder of the two with eyes like the clear morning sky makes a comment about the other being red and sunburnt and earns a not-quite-painful elbow in his ribs as well as a snort of amusement from the dark-haired boy who is too tired and comfortable to bother hiding his good cheer.

He suddenly feels unusually talkative and he lets his voice run free, over stories, jokes, confessions, emotions. But when he turns to his listener, the blond boy is fast asleep. The dark-haired boy can't decide whether to laugh or be furious, so he does both.

A pale hand makes a small movement, entwining its fingers with slightly tanner ones, and the stars watch over the friends as the summer zephyr sings to them a song of undying love.


	2. Fuyu

**A/N - **Repost: Forgot to write disclaimer and mention a warning for this drabble - A bit of angst, and runny sentence structure. (Very irresponsible... And delayed)Gah! Almost two hundred hits and no reviews... :sniff: People, please tell me whether I'm doing something wrong or right! Reviews mean the world to me whether it's praise or criticism... So... Just hit the little button at the bottom of the screen and leave a comment or two. I'll love you for it!

**Disclaimer - **I don't own Naruto... The responsibilty would kill me.

**Seasons**

_Fuyu - Winter_

For the first time in years, it has snowed. It covers Konohagure in a muffling, chilled blanket of pure white quiet and drives everyone indoors before their heaters to escape the searching, biting wind as the steel-coloured clouds deliver another dusting of powder-like ice.

Grey eyes meet the grey sky, a lone figure in a black coat bearing the crest of the red and white fan, on his way home from another mission. He's tired and a minor ankle injury causes a slight limp, but it's the first time he's seen snow in Konoha and he stops to admire its muted beauty, the gentle grace of the path traced by a swirl of frozen rain.

He closes his eyes briefly, letting it settle in his raven hair, feeling the cold caress of the snowflakes brushing past his cheek - sidesteps as a badly packed lump of snow whizzes past his head, scattering slush in every direction. Ah, and who else would be responsible for the launch of such a terrible missile other than his infinitely infuriating blond team mate?

A childish giggle and the thrower steps into view, a vulpine grin in a garish blue parker and orange mittens, but he can barely complete his gloat before a clod of snow hits him in the mouth.

Of course, this official declaration of war simply cannot be surrendered to.

In the middle of the freezing street, fatigue forgotten, flurries and fistfuls of white lies - insults and name calling are hurled blindly, mercilessly, as the wind tears at the black coat and blue parker, throwing their cries against the unforgiving world around them and rubbing their noses a numb red.

A window slides open and an angry fist curses them to hell, the noisy disrespectful youth of these days. Under the fresh onslaught, the two adversaries unite out of desperation to execute their ultimate defence: Retreat.

Bolting, escaping, flying, laughing all the while, because it's hilarious and they don't know why. A gale in their ears, they strain to keep up with one another, exhausted bodies pleading for rest, breath clawing their throats raw, but they continue as if on wings, leaving reality behind, weighted on the dismal ground.

The dark-haired boy wants to scream in ecstasy. His ankle burns, throbs, stabs with excruciating _pain_ and to him, it feels like bliss.

They will never stop.

But they do, finally, gasping for air, dizzy and drunk, aching, weak, and miserable with joy, they collapse like fallen birds in the snow, sprawled, bleeding and broken.

One is a hawk, the other a raven.

The raven beats his wings, not up and down, but side to side. The hawk sits up and he is a boy again, azure eyes confused as he questions his friend's odd motions.

It's a snow angel, dobe.

Snow angels? The blond head cocks thoughtfully at this strange concept of heavenly beings whose wings are too cold and heavy to grant them flight. It's tragic and beautiful and he can't bring himself to make one, because the blond-haired boy does not want to be responsible for something so sad.

The dark-haired boy doesn't understand this. He tries to listen to his friend's round about explanation, but in the end, it makes no sense and he's just more annoyed and confused.

So they sit there, exhaling smoky plumes of warmth and clumsily dissecting their private thoughts.

They boy with the eyes of stone wants to become the snow. To be pure and simple: Untainted; to melt and disappear without pain and fall as tears of regret shed by the sky after watching an unhappy world for so long.

He wants to forget.

But he can't. His soul is barren, his mind is frozen, his heart is broken and he's pretty sure his ankle is too.

Furious, he heaves himself to his feet, prepared to abandon his blond companion without so much as a glance in his direction as he begins his tortured limp home.

And like the ink from a brush, the blond boy trails behind his rival and brother, prepared to lend support, even though he knows the dark-haired boy would rather crawl back in agony than request assistance.

It's enough to make the blue eyes want to weep. He admires the other boy from a distance, so cold and alone, perfect yet damaged, silent as a snowflake seeking a place to rest.

Pale, powerful and pretty: the Uchiha Ice Prince, they call him.

But to a certain blond, he's just pathetic. Tragic and beautiful - a fallen snow angel.


End file.
